


just be here with me

by everchasing (corpsesoldier)



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Biting, F/F, Kinda, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Semi-Public Sex, Vaginal Fingering, basira tops change my mind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:22:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23798404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corpsesoldier/pseuds/everchasing
Summary: Daisy’s been better about asking for what she needs. Basira’s trying her best to listen.
Relationships: Basira Hussain/Alice "Daisy" Tonner
Comments: 10
Kudos: 148





	just be here with me

Basira takes her peace where she can get it. 

Sometimes that means sitting on the ragged, old couch in the break room, doing her best to read without jostling Daisy. She’s draped across Basira’s lap, her back against the arm of the couch and her forehead tucked into the curve of Basira’s neck. She doesn’t like to be alone, especially at night. Always wants to feel Basira next to her.

Things have been difficult since the coffin. Well, they’d been difficult long before that, but never with Daisy. Now even that’s complicated in a way she doesn’t let herself look at straight on, because if she saw the shape of it she would lose her grip, and she desperately can’t afford to lose her grip. She doesn’t let herself feel it. Ignores the cocktail of regret and resentment and good old-fashioned grief that boils inside her when she feels how light Daisy is on top of her. 

They try to talk. Things are better than they were. But when the words run out, Basira can still do this. Wants to do this—be a solid weight for Daisy to rest against, an anchor to prove she isn’t alone. 

Daisy’s breathing is slow and even and she doesn’t stir when Basira shifts to turn a page. One of her legs is going numb, but nothing short of an invasion would compel her to move Daisy when she actually manages to get some sleep.

Or Basira thought she was asleep, until she feels Daisy tilt her head back and press her lips against her neck. Basira lets out a soft sigh and brings her hand up to scratch lightly at Daisy’s scalp.

“Have you been awake this whole time?”

“Mm. Not tired.” 

“Could’ve fooled me.”

Daisy huffs a laugh that makes her skin prickle. She keeps pressing kisses against Basira’s throat. It’s only a minute or two before she curls one hand in the collar of Basira’s shirt and pulls herself up so she can reach more of her skin. All of which makes it _very_ difficult for Basira to focus on her book.

She pulls a groan from Basira when she lays her mouth at the junction of neck and shoulder and _sucks_. 

“Daisy,” Basira admonishes. “We are in the middle of the break room.”

“It’s late. Everyone’s asleep.” 

“Are we sure Jon even sleeps anymore?” She tries to make it a joke, wants to feel Daisy’s laugh again.

“You know he does,” Daisy says, sharp. Then softer, “Don’t want to talk about Jon, Basira.” Her name comes out a purr that sends a shudder through her. She’s never been very good at resisting.

She folds down a corner of her book and tosses it onto the coffee table. Then she turns, tilts Daisy’s head up, and catches her wandering mouth in a kiss. She can feel Daisy’s smug smile and bites her bottom lip in retaliation. 

“You’re impossible,” Basira says.

“You like it.” She squirms, looping her arms around Basira’s neck, trying to press closer. Basira wraps an arm around the small of her back and pulls her properly into her lap, her knees on either side of Basira’s thighs. Daisy moans softly and dives for another kiss so insistent that Basira goes a little lightheaded. 

She knows, of course, that they’re in this together, that despite everything Daisy is still hers. But it’s another thing to feel it. It makes Basira feel more real, to have Daisy’s hands clutching her shoulders and her hot breath in her mouth, to feel the sounds she makes reverberate in the fragile cage of her chest.

She stops thinking for a while. There’s only Daisy. Only lips and tongue and gasping breaths, only Daisy’s hands on her chest or buried in her hair. Basira rucks up Daisy’s shirt and maps the places where smooth skin meets puckered scar. The touch coaxes soft noises out of Daisy and Basira swallows them hungrily.

She breaks away to nip slowly up the line of Daisy’s jaw, relishing the way she shivers. When she brushes her teeth against the spot just below her ear, Daisy gasps and jerks against her.

She leans out of Basira’s reach, panting. Basira gets a proper look at her—pupils blown, lips swollen—and thinks there isn’t a better view in the world. The respite doesn’t last long against the temptation to fasten her lips to Daisy’s throat, to feel her pulse jump under her tongue.

“Basira, _please,_ ” she whines in her ear.

That destroys whatever remained of Basira’s resolve. Daisy’s been better about asking for what she needs. Basira’s trying her best to listen.

“I’ve got you, love,” Basira murmurs into her skin and Daisy makes a relieved sound dangerously close to a sob. 

Something fierce flares in her chest. Fuck it. Not like anyone’s going to stroll in for a 2 AM cup of terrible coffee. And if the Ceaseless Watcher wanted to watch, well, fucking let it. She can be this for Daisy. 

She maneuvers them until she can lay Daisy back against the sofa. It’s narrow, but they’ve made do with much worse. She covers Daisy with her body like she’s building a wall between her and the world, fits a knee between her legs and leans in to kiss her again—warm and lingering now that Daisy knows she’ll get what she wants. She pushes in with her thigh and Daisy lets out a ragged breath just like Basira knew she would, her lips parted invitingly, and God, Basira wishes everything could be this simple. 

“What do you want?” Basira asks. She slides a hand under Daisy’s shirt and runs a palm up her stomach, playing dirty, and it takes Daisy a moment to respond. 

“You, always. Want to feel you.” She makes a frustrated sound low in her throat and pushes back against Basira’s thigh. “Want these fucking jeans _off_.”

Basira chuckles. “On it.”

She starts to pull away when Daisy loops a finger through her belt loop and tugs. “You too?”

“Yeah, of course. Whatever you want.” She drops her lips to Daisy’s forehead and feels her go limp beneath her.

It takes an awkward, fumbling minute to pull Daisy out of her clothes. Basira ends up on the floor when she tries to drag her pants over her ankles and overbalances, and Daisy laughs until Basira sinks her teeth into her hip, turns it into a startled moan. She only manages to get half undressed herself before Daisy gets impatient and pulls her down in the middle of unbuttoning her blouse, searching for Basira’s mouth. 

“Needy,” Basira teases, smiling.

“Your fault. You’re beautiful.”

Basira’s skin flushes hot with pride. She’s the only one who gets to see this, the only one who can make Daisy sound like this. Her own desire rears inside her, sudden and greedy. She wants to pull Daisy apart, wants to see her wrecked and shaking and know it’s all because of her.

“You want me to touch you, pretty girl? Want me to make you feel good?” Basira’s hand is flat against Daisy’s chest and it’s like she can feel her fluttering heartbeat through her whole body. 

“Yes,” Daisy pants, blushing. “God, don’t tease me.”

Basira kneels between Daisy’s legs, but hesitates at the demand. Bites her tongue, considering. She skims her fingers up Daisy’s ribs just to see her shiver, brushes a thumb over her nipple like she’s making a point. Daisy arches into the touch.

“Ask nice,” Basira says.

Daisy narrows her eyes and tries to growl, but the sound dies in her throat when Basira ducks to take the nipple between her lips, teases with just the edge of her teeth. “Please,” she gasps.

Basira grins, feeling powerful, drunk on the way Daisy’s looking at her, eyes black with want. Basira can feel the edges of her own desire to deny, to draw out, to have Daisy writhing and crying for her. But this isn’t about Basira. And she _did_ say please.

When Basira’s fingers slide between her folds, Daisy throws her head back and practically _shouts_. 

Basira jumps, drawing back. Yeah, probably none of the Archives is awake, but no reason to test the theory. She leans down close over Daisy. Meets her apprehensive eyes with calm deliberation, and places her other hand firmly against her mouth. 

“Need you to stay quiet,” Basira whispers. Daisy reacts to the pressure of her hand, the weight of her body, and something in her expression makes Basira want to push it. “Are you going to be good for me?”

Daisy’s eyes somehow go even darker. She arches to bare her throat in surrender. Basira watches the enticing way the muscles work when she swallows. 

“Good girl.” Daisy’s eyes flutter closed. So good, so pretty—does Daisy have any idea what she does to her? She moves again, traces circles against her clit as a reward. Daisy rocks her hips in counterpoint to the slide of her fingers and Basira lets her, wants her to chase it.

Daisy groans low and deep, muffled by Basira’s palm, and reaches up, digs her hands into the arm of the couch behind her head. It puts her on display in a way Basira doesn’t think is entirely accidental. Her skin is flushed pink, sweat-slick, her scars standing out in sharp relief. Basira ducks her head to trace one with her tongue, a knotted line across her ribs that looks like a knife wound, and smirks when it pulls a whine from her.

She loses herself to the taste of Daisy’s skin. Kisses the scars left by all the things that tried and failed to kill her. Sucks bruises into her throat or the soft underside of her breast. Delivers a sharp bite to her collarbone that makes Daisy cry out, the sound vibrating up through Basira’s arm. Daisy used to be the biter—not anymore. Now she likes when Basira marks her up. She’s seen her press her fingertips into the swollen skin like she needs to convince herself that she still lives in her body, that she belongs to someone. 

Basira’s more than happy to oblige. She sinks her teeth into Daisy, leaves coded messages that say _I’m here_ , thinks _I’ll always be here_.

She comes back to herself when Daisy wraps a hand around her wrist. She’s lost her rhythm, her hips bucking desperately against Basira’s hand, every breath a smothered whine. Her body’s drawn like a wire about to snap. Daisy taps twice on the hand over her mouth and Basira immediately drops it to her heaving chest.

“Okay?” Basira asks. She starts to pull her hand from between Daisy’s legs, but the sound of loss that tears from Daisy’s throat holds her in place. “What do you need, love?”

Daisy inhales a shaking breath. “Please,” she begs. “Please, please, please, please.” 

Her eyes are open, but hazy and unfocused, her mouth shiny with spit. She looks so goddamn beautiful that Basira's chest aches. But right now, she wants Daisy here with her. 

She slows down, ignoring the pleading whine, and smoothes her other hand down the trembling muscles of Daisy’s stomach. “Daisy? Look at me, Daisy. Tell me what you want.”

It takes a minute. Her hips still hitch desperately against Basira, but gradually, her breathing evens out. She blinks once, twice, then meets Basira’s eyes. Basira only recognizes the sharp prick of worry after the fact, when the tension bleeds out of her at the sound of Daisy’s voice.

“God, please, want you—‘Sira, want your fingers, want you inside me, please—”

She doesn’t need to be asked twice. She slides two fingers inside and Daisy takes her easily, soaked and wanting. Basira flexes her wrist, curls her fingers, and Daisy inhales sharply—and then claps her own hand to her mouth.

The sight ignites something in Basira. She lets out a low moan and words spill from her before she has a chance to think about them. 

“My good girl, my good beautiful girl. Keeping yourself so quiet. Telling me what you need. God, you feel so good, taking me so well.” Daisy’s muffled cries are high and needy, but she’s still intent on Basira’s face. Basira feels half out of her mind under the weight of her eyes, the love and trust and aching want. “Do you want to come? Do you want to come for me, pretty girl?”

Daisy nods frantically. 

Basira grins. She thrusts into Daisy and drags her fingertips at just the right angle, plants her other hand above Daisy’s pelvis, leans into the heel of her palm. Daisy screws her eyes shut, muscles pulled so taut she’s essentially frozen, at Basira’s mercy. When Basira drops her hand to drag messy, desperate fingers against Daisy’s clit, she comes with a smothered scream. 

Basira surges forward, peels Daisy’s hand away, and swallows the rest of her broken whimpers with a kiss. Daisy pants against her lips, mutters Basira’s name over and over, hands grasping everywhere until one finds Basira’s free hand and holds it like a lifeline. Basira tries to make it last, make it good for her, but eventually Daisy moves to draw away, even though there’s nowhere to go on the couch, and Basira pulls out. She smears the slick against Daisy’s skin, unthinking, when she reaches for her hip. Her other arm snakes around her shoulders and she pulls Daisy up into her lap. 

Daisy rests her forehead against Basira’s, her eyes bright instead of lost and haunted. She just breathes for a moment, letting Basira hold her up. And then: “Hey,” she says.

“Hey,” Basira echoes. “You okay?”

“I’m fucking fantastic.”

Basira grins. “You’re welcome.”

“Cocky.” Daisy swats her thigh. But she lowers her head to find Basira’s lips. Basira closes her eyes and lets herself enjoy the weight of Daisy on top of her, solid and real and here. 

It’s Daisy who pulls away to lean her head into Basira’s shoulder. Exhales slowly. “Really, though. Thank you.”

Basira cups the back of her head, runs her fingers through her short hair. She hums in acknowledgement. “You were so good for me.”

Daisy shivers against her. Interesting. “You and your fucking praise.”

“Oh, what, like you don’t like it?”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“It’s hot,” Basira insists. “God, you have no idea. Sometimes I can’t think straight when I look at you.”

“I should hope not.”

“Ha ha,” Basira deadpans. She takes note of the way Daisy’s adjusted her legs, the way she’s leaning into Basira’s thigh, tiny movements dragging wet along her skin. Her mouth close to Daisy’s ear, she whispers, “Think you can give me another one?”

Daisy sighs. A note of tension creeps back into her voice when she says, “I don’t know.”

“Interested in finding out?”

Basira groans when Daisy grinds down into her deliberately. “What do you think?” Daisy laughs.

She hooks her hands around Daisy’s hips and holds them there, refusing to guide her. With a frustrated huff Daisy starts to work against her. Basira would give Daisy whatever she asked for, would give her everything, and love every second of it. But she also likes when Daisy takes what she wants. She doesn’t do much taking anymore. 

Daisy feels so close to her like this, flush against her stomach and chest, breathing the same air. They fit together in such a fundamental, physical way that Basira wonders how she’d lived before she met Daisy, before she knew what was supposed to slot into that empty space. 

Daisy keeps trying to kiss her, only to interrupt herself with a soft gasp or a whispered curse, and Basira breathes a laugh. She feels the sounds more than she hears them and each one tugs at the heat building low in her gut. 

“So beautiful,” she says against Daisy’s lips.

“Fuck, Basira, feels so good.” She squeezes her eyes shut, head falling back, exposing her throat already marked by Basira’s hungry mouth.

“Take what you need, love. Whatever you need. I’m here.”

“Close, ‘m close.” Daisy’s eyes shoot open again, her gaze just this side of feverish. Basira can’t look away. Just then, looking at Daisy, having Daisy look at her, makes her feel something inexpressible, too big for words.

Then Daisy reaches down between them, slides her fingers between Basira’s thighs, and Basira is forced to acknowledge how wet she is. Her own need curls hot and heavy inside her and she wraps one hand around Daisy’s bicep, bruising, encouraging.

“Want you to come, too,” Daisy whispers intently. “Come for me, come with me, please, Basira.”

God, it isn’t going to take long. Basira rolls her hips into Daisy’s hand and the movement presses her thigh more firmly against Daisy’s clit and soon they’re both gasping with it. 

Her orgasm hits her so hard and fast that she barely has time to say Daisy’s name before she’s coming apart underneath her. She buries her face into Daisy’s neck, bites down into the taut column of her throat to keep herself from crying out. 

“Oh,” Daisy sighs. She shakes under Basira’s teeth, her pulse racing. Her free hand hooks around the back of Basira’s neck, nails digging in like she’s afraid she might disappear if she doesn’t hold onto something. She jerks against Basira’s thigh once, twice, three times, breath coming hard and fast. Basira keeps hold of her arm, her hip, and at this point she doesn’t know who she’s trying to keep grounded. 

Feeling light and relaxed for the first time in days, Basira soothes the red mark she left on Daisy’s neck with her lips and tongue, letting Daisy come back down. 

They’re still clinging to each other, catching their breath, when Basira takes Daisy’s face in her hands.

“What?” Daisy asks, a flicker of anxiety in her eyes.

“Just. I love you. You know that, right?” 

It feels vital to speak it aloud, clear and unmistakable. To make it something between them instead of just inside her, when she feels like she’s been bursting with it since Daisy sat in her lap, just trusting Basira to hold her. Words don’t always come natural to them, but she needs Daisy to hear it. Needs her to believe it.

Daisy’s expression relaxes into something soft and tired. “I know. I love you, too.”

Basira sighs in relief, her thumb ghosting over Daisy’s too-sharp cheekbone. She ought to say it more, she knows. And maybe she needs to hear it, too.

They end up laying on the couch tangled in each other, Daisy on top, her head nestled into Basira’s chest. Daisy’s breath turns deep and slow. Basira taps her shoulder.

“Mm?”

“We can’t fall asleep here.”

“I know,” Daisy mumbles.

“Daisy, really. We’re in the break room. We’re filthy. You’re naked.”

“I’m not sleeping,” she says, making no effort to get up.

Basira sighs. She supposes she can have a few minutes. She rests her hand on Daisy’s back, traces the petal-shaped scar, and focuses on the steady rise and fall of her breathing.

Maybe everything isn’t okay. Maybe everything is fucked up beyond belief. But right now, there aren’t any monsters to fight or rituals to blow up. Right now, they’re together. The rest, they can figure out.

**Author's Note:**

> well! that's the first time I've written smut! sorry!


End file.
